


Crashing Waves

by 2babyturtles



Series: Tumblr Fanfic Prompts [5]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Afterlife, Established Johnlock, Gen, Goodbyes, Love, Love Stronger than Anything, M/M, Philosophy, Retirementlock, Sad, Spiritual, Sweet, saying goodbye
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-16
Updated: 2017-09-16
Packaged: 2018-12-30 15:36:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12111837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/2babyturtles/pseuds/2babyturtles
Summary: Waves crash against the rocks at their feet and their papery hands are clasped between them. Worn with age and far too many near-death experiences, neither Sherlock or John were willing to let go. Small smiles dance across their mouths and their eyes close naturally as they breathe in the smell of salty air and the great expanse of ocean before them.





	Crashing Waves

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The Second Life](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11596125) by [Salambo06](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Salambo06/pseuds/Salambo06). 
  * Inspired by [Soldiers: A Collection of Drabbles Following John Watson and Sherlock Holmes](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11926737) by [AlixxBlack](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlixxBlack/pseuds/AlixxBlack). 



> Written for Prompt #5 (I think??): "You don't believe in an afterlife?"
> 
> Find me here: https://www.tumblr.com/blog/2babyturtles-ao3

Years pass in a blink and the only signs are creaky old bones and wrinkly old smiles. Eventually, there’s other signs. Mycroft went first. He was the oldest, of course, and much closer to Sherlock than either of them would’ve admitted. They’d mourned the loss of their parents together but those deaths were nothing to Sherlock like that of Mycroft Holmes. The smarter one. The clever one. The elder one. There wasn’t a corner of the world that Mycroft didn’t have strings to pull in and every corner seemed a little more dangerous without big brother.

_Goodbye, brother mine._

Lestrade went next. It was a few years and he’d long since retired, but he’d kept in touch with Sherlock and John and the loss was a hard one. He was the friendliest face in London and always made sure Sherlock knew he was loved. Not just like John loves him. But like friends love each other. Lestrade truly was Sherlock’s friend.

_Sherlock Holmes is a great man, and I think one day, if we’re very, very lucky, he might even be a good one._

Molly’s death was harder. After so many years and so many tries, Molly had finally met a good man. One who loved her and took care of her. But when it was Sherlock’s time to speak at the funeral—a simple affair—there didn’t seem to be the right words. He couldn’t say he loved her, because it wasn’t enough. It was true, but it wasn’t enough. And those words were a lifetime too late, and in the wrong lifetime anyway.

_Maybe it’s just my type._

* * *

 

Waves crash against the rocks at their feet and their papery hands are clasped between them. Worn with age and far too many near-death experiences, neither Sherlock or John are willing to let go. Small smiles dance across their mouths and their eyes close naturally as they breathe in the smell of salty air and the great expanse of ocean before them.

“After all this,” John finally says, “you don’t believe in an afterlife?”

Sherlock doesn’t look at him. He doesn’t have to. But the idea of losing him, of reincarnating without him or of living on without _this_ , is not one he fancies. He imagines what it must be like to be comforted by the knowledge that this doesn’t end.

“Do you?” he asks.

Another breath, another moment, and another small smile. “I always have,” he responds slowly, “but honestly, I just want a nap now. I want to lay down with you and close my eyes against the world. Just you and me. Do you think that’s the afterlife?”

Sherlock wraps an arm around John. “I believe,” he remarked wholeheartedly as he leads his dear friend back to the small house they call home, “that a life with you is the only one I need.”

* * *

 

_“...I could not wish anything better than to be associated with my friend in one of those singular adventures which were the normal condition of his existence.” –  Sir Arthur Conan Doyle_


End file.
